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by Thistlerose



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Gen, Missing Scene, Plothole Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:59:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of dealing with her co-workers' sexism, Moira decides to pursue a different path.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [billtheradish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/gifts).



> This is a (brief) attempt at reconciling Moira's canon in the X-Men movies. Also, the thing with the cat really happened.

She stayed with the CIA for as long as she could stand it. It wasn’t just a matter of pride; she knew she was a good agent, and her country needed her. The Soviet threat was still very real, and now there were these mutants, these men and women with incredible powers, many of whom – like Emma Frost, at large again – did not seem inclined to use their powers for what many would consider _good_.

Moira told herself again and again that she had to stay, that it was her duty, not just to her country but to the mutants who _were_ good, law-abiding citizens. Like Charles Xavier, whom she still saw occasionally, and whose company she enjoyed, even though he never talked about his own activities, or what he himself remembered of last October. She had to protect him and the mutants who were like him.

But as the months went by, it became increasingly obvious that her fellow agents did not take her seriously, and never would. They’d blow kisses as they passed by her in the hallway, and then ask her if she remembered where she was going. When they sent her out on assignments at all, they were ones for which she was laughably overqualified, and they always looked to her partner to confirm her claims, as if they didn’t trust her observations or her word.

Still, she stuck it out until they attempted to put her in charge of feeding the cat they were training to spy on the Soviets. 

“I must say I’m surprised, Agent MacTaggert,” Director McCone said when she told him she was quitting.

_Really?_ she wanted to scream at him. _Really?_ But she clasped her hands behind her back and let him have his say. 

Afterward, she went home, poured herself a glass of wine and drew a hot bath. As she lay in the tub, soaking and sipping her Cabernet, she thought about what she was going to do next. She was only in her mid-thirties and already she had an impressive resume. 

_Saved the world more times than I can remember … literally,_ she thought. With her fingertip, she drew a squiggle in the condensation on her wineglass. She studied it for a few moments, breathing deeply. 

_Waves,_ she thought. _There were waves, and a beach, and I couldn’t breathe._ Maybe she almost drowned and someone resuscitated her. That would explain the memory of lips brushing hers, what she’d once foolishly described as a kiss. 

Moira swallowed the last of her wine and set the glass down on the edge of the tub. Closing her eyes and taking a quick gulp of air, she slid down and ducked her head under the water.

She stayed submerged for only about fifteen seconds. When she came back up she was no more enlightened than she’d been before, and she felt a little silly. By then the water was getting cold, so she climbed out of the tub, dried herself off with a towel, brought her empty wineglass into the kitchen, went to bed. She slept soundly, and in the morning she awoke with no memory of her dreams, if she’d even dreamed at all.

Except, for some reason, the word _school_ was perched on the tip of her tongue.

_School_ , she thought with some bewilderment, as she pushed her blanket aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. _What school?_

In the bathroom a few moments later, she stood in front of the sink and studied her reflection. She looked tired, she thought, despite her deep and apparently dreamless sleep. Not really in the mood for mysteries. Still…

_Maybe it’s time for a_ real _change. Maybe I could go back to school._

Yeah, and study what? Art?

She began to reach for her toothbrush.

Biology? Genetics? She paused, her hand still outstretched, and quirked a smile at her reflection. 

Well, that would be interesting. She’d always been good at science. It was a thought, anyway. Possibly a good one. She’d have to let it percolate for a while, but … maybe.


End file.
